


...My True Love Sent to Me

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-24
Updated: 2011-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:11:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sequel to <i>On the First Day of Christmas</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	...My True Love Sent to Me

Surveying with gloom the tea chests which were cluttering up the hallway, Bodie gave the nearest a kick in passing. "I still say it can't be time for another move," he insisted. Going into the living room he poured them both generous measures of Glenfiddich.

"You want to tell that to Cowley or shall I?" asked Doyle mildly. He perched on the arm of a chair.

"We're always being moved," protested Bodie. He knew who would be doing all the work entailed in organising the forthcoming upheaval and this would be the their third move in twelve months.

"Nah, it just seems like it," consoled Doyle, his sunny mood undiminished because he was equally aware of who would be doing all the work if he had any say in the matter. "This is a nice drop of stuff," he added, toasting his mate. "With a bit of luck it'll settle on top of a MacDonalds. Though we needn't have bothered to grab a hamburger if we'd known Cowley was going to have a rush of blood to the head and give us the afternoon off to get our stuff packed. That's a first."

"Probably a last, too," said Bodie morosely. He downed the last of his drink in a do or die fashion.

"Cheer up, mate, it's not as if we're moving on our own, is it?"

"Eh?"

"Moving together, aren't we," Doyle pointed out.

"That's a consolation?"

"One flat's better than two - if you're sharing it with the right someone."

Bodie groaned, then gave in and grinned. "I suppose it is," he conceded.

"Don't overwhelm me, will you," Doyle begged him.

"Not until you start doing your fair share of work in the move, no," Bodie warned him placidly.

"I'm distressed by this cynical streak," said Doyle, a wary eye on the advancing figure of his partner. "But having said that," he added cravenly, "it wouldn't occur to me to leave everything to you."

"Coward," accused Bodie, undeceived.

"That, too," Doyle agreed with a grin. "Well, I can't sit here chatting for what's left of the day. I'm off to do my Christmas shopping. What about you?"

Bodie briefly considered the over-heated scrum-like conditions of any London store during the week before Christmas and made his choice with no difficulty at all.

"I think I'll catch up on some sleep."

"But what about Christmas?"

"Oh, I'll be awake before then," Bodie assured him.

"What about presents?" persisted Doyle.

"What about 'em?"

"Have you got mine yet?"

Injured, Bodie lifted his head from the cushion it had been resting on. "Ray, would I - ?"

"Like a shot if I let you get away with it. Have you got mine?"

"Weeks ago," said Bodie with confidence. "And it's no good you ferreting around. If you haven't found it by now you never will."

Resolute, Doyle managed to disguise the fact he was mentally cataloguing the few hiding places at his companion's disposal.

Ineffably smug Bodie just gave him a superior smile.

"I've got to go," said Doyle, briskly changing the subject because that way it seemed less like an admission of defeat.. "I've got a lot to do. Suppose I'll have to use the Underground. No point trying to park the car this time of day," he added without enthusiasm.

"None at all. Give Santa my love - and don't go nicking the one in Selfridges like you did the year before last," admonished Bodie.

"He had a list of priors as long as your arm. Anyway, I'm not planning to go anywhere near Selfridges. That manager looked like he had a long memory." His tone absent, Doyle was patting his pockets while wondering where he had put the list he had made.

"Given that you arrested their Santa at the height of the season I dunno what else you expected. Though I dunno how they'll get by without your custom this year. You must have spent all of fifty pence in there last year."

"Seventy five," said Doyle, as he hunted along the bookshelves.

His sleepy gaze on his partner's back, Bodie smiled. "If you don't get a move on you won't get there till the rush hour and I'd hate to lose you to the commuter stampede."

"I'm going, I'm going. Have you seen a list lying around?" added Doyle, having drawn a blank in his searches.

"You mean this?" asked Bodie, reaching up from where he was sprawled to produce a dog-eared piece of paper from where it was tucked at the side of a speaker.

Doyle took it from him with suspicion. "'Video camera, Rolex, new fishing rod, compact disc player, Mars bars.' This isn't mine."

"No, but I thought you might be stuck for what to get me," explained Bodie with a winning smile "I don't need anymore flannelette vests."

"Damn, I wish you'd said earlier," sighed Doyle. Crumpling the list, he tossing it into the waste bin before his attention returned to the figure draped along the sofa. Bodie was all drooping mouth, expectant eyes and sprawled sensuality. "I know exactly what I'll be sticking in you, but not now. There isn't time," he added, his resolve already weakening.

"It's the first free afternoon we've had off for weeks," murmured Bodie, making himself more comfortable.

Doyle swallowed. "So when am I going to go Christmas shopping?" he asked weakly.

Astonished blue eyes widened. "You think you can last _all_ afternoon?" Bodie asked, all admiration.

Having already removed his jacket, Doyle paused in hauling off his second boot to give his companion a slow smile of infinite promise. "I reckon. With a bit of encouragement."

Bodie beamed happily. "I'll see what I can do."

 

Sleepily surfacing and becoming aware that Bodie was at about the same level of awareness, Doyle snuggled a little closer, wondering at what point in the proceeding they had made it to bed.

"What time is it?" he asked a few moments later, his nose tucked in Bodie's armpit.

There was a rustling sound above him.

"Half eleven."

"At night?"

"Time flies when you're having fun," mumbled Bodie, too sated to strive for originality. "Still," he added fairly, "you lived up to your promise. You must've lasted all of two minutes."

"Sharrup," commanded Doyle. Leaning up on one elbow to kiss him, he licked delicately at the love-swollen mouth before gently biting Bodie's lower lip. "The earth moved and you know it," he said, satisfied with his earlier endeavours.

"That was the sofa, Ray. And I'm not bending over the arm like that again, not till we get rid of those casters. There could've been a nasty accident." Bodie sounded remarkably sanguine at the prospect. One splayed hand investigated the familiar contours or Doyle's buttocks, the side or his thumb brushing down the sweat-dampened cleft.

"It's nice that. I don't think we can get them off," added Doyle vacantly. "I seem to remember checking them once."

"What are you on about?" asked Bodie indulgently.

"Casters."

"Oh. Such an intellectual."

"You know something," said Doyle, holding his partner's gaze with a steady look of his own.

"Not till you tell me, no."

"I'm starving. D'you fancy a pizza or lasagne? There's both in the freezer."

"They'll take hours to defrost," protested Bodie, his rumbling stomach clamouring for immediate sustenance. "We could have cheese on toast instead. That's quick and filling. Full of protein, too and we're going to need our strength."

A little disconcerted, Doyle studied him. "You can't be ready for another bout yet."

Bodie raised an eyebrow, which was about his limit at the moment, and smiled his most infuriatingly superior smile.

Burrowing under the duvet Doyle's hand unerringly found its target. "Lying sod," he said amiably. He pushed away the bedclothes so he could confirm his tactile investigation, cradling the limp flesh in his palm while remembering past glories.

"I wasn't talking about that, was I," protested Bodie with virtue. "Some of us," he continued piously, his own fingers stroking a lax heaviness with one finger, "don't have one track minds. We're being moved tomorrow, 8 a.m. sharp. That means we either fill those tea chests ourselves or we leave it to the removal men to do it. Remember the last time?" he added in grim reminder.

Doyle's head rose from its resting place, his look of horror fading as he remembered that they didn't have any - many - things that couldn't go on public display. After their brush with near disaster at the beginning of the year they had collected up all the sexual aides Bodie had acquired and taken them to a dump. But the memory lingered on.

"We never did work out how that leather thing with the straps worked," Doyle mourned, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes.

Bodie blinked, then caught the reference. "Maybe not, but we had fun trying. So when do we do the packing - tonight or tomorrow morning? Bearing in mind that it's more fun to wake up in the mood when you've got the time to indulge yourself."

The dice suitably loaded, Doyle slowly sat up, scratched his stomach and gave a lazy stretch, one wrist dangling limply over Bodie's shoulder.

"Why don't we indulge ourselves now, then do it again in the morning?" he suggested.

"Love to, mate," said Bodie, removing the other hand which was intent on exploring his more intimate contours, "but I'm done for the rest of the night."

"Yeah? It must be your age," said Doyle with sympathy.

"Who's older than who?" demanded Bodie, the picture of affronted machismo.

"Whom," corrected Doyle, his voice muffled as he licked around the curl of Bodie's navel, his tongue tip delving down.

"Hark at you," said Bodie, his belly muscles fluttering from the caress which had the power to rouse him from the dead, never mind mere battle fatigue. He became increasingly aware of the hand which had slid between his parted thighs.

"C'mon," he added, "shift your arse and stop groping mine. We've got work to do." But he made no attempt to move, respecting his partner's reflexes.

"Chicken," recognised Doyle indulgently, the pad of his finger continuing its circling caress of the tight bud of muscle. "Relax. I'm not about to damage one of your assets. Much."

"Later, mate, eh? It'll be better in the morning," coaxed Bodie.

"I knew it," sighed Doyle, desisting. Sliding from Bodie and the bed, there was a dejected slump to his shoulders and his head was bowed. "Cast off like a worn out - That hurt!"

"No, it didn't," contradicted Bodie with confidence. "And it's a rotten trick to go flauntin' it in my face like that. You know I can't resist your bum."

Doyle gave him a smug grin, leaning back into the palm massaging the injured area.

"But we're going to do the packing first," continued Bodie with a dogged determination. "Besides, I'm hungry myself. Here, put these on and we'll get started."

Doyle eyed the soft cotton track suit bottoms with an unenthusiastic eye. "The pile comes off the inside of those, makes me look like a moulting rabbit - and it gets caught up in my bum."

With a long suffering sigh Bodie opened a drawer, scooping out a pair of black briefs. "Put these on. First," he added with a reluctant grin. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were drunk."

"Only on love," said Doyle lyrically, one hand disappearing beneath the drawstring waist to adjust himself to the position of maximum comfort.

"Just so long as you don't keep disappearing into the bog same as you do when you've had the odd pint too many, I don't mind," said Bodie sternly, but his eyes were warm with affection as he eased out a brown curl where it was caught under the edge of the sweater Doyle had pulled on.

"Yeah. Silver-tongue. That all you can say, is it?" mocked Doyle gently, floating a punch past his jaw. "Come on. I'll start getting the stuff in the other room packed away while you see to the food. It shouldn't take us long," he added optimistically.

Shaking his head at such naivety, Bodie headed for the kitchen.

 

"Right, what's left to clear?" asked Doyle, wiping his dusty hands over his backside.

Frowning, Bodie mentally ticked off the rooms. "Bedroom - though it's only our clothes left in there now. The odd bit of stuff in the bathroom and that's it. Oh, and the glory hole."

Nodding unenthusiastically Doyle headed for the bedroom.

"I'll see to the clothes," said Bodie firmly, hauling him back. "Last time I let you loose on them everything looked like it had been through the wringer."

Muttering under his breath about over-fussy army types Doyle stalked off to the bathroom, cheering as he quickly dealt with the few items they wouldn't need in the morning. Left with no further excuse, he took a depth breath before making for the glory hole.

It had begun life as a metre cupboard cum box room but was used for every and any item for which they couldn't find a more suitable home. Opening the door with caution, Doyle stepped back to avoid the cascade of sports bags, boxes and general junk. Sifting unenthusiastically through the pile, his expression lightened as he found a missing running shoe, Bodie's spare squash racquet and a new box or shuttlecocks amidst a load of junk.

Fastening the second of the black plastic sacks of rubbish, Doyle stood with caution and stretched his aching back. Muscles popped during his lengthy stretch but his sigh of content turned to a groan when he glanced up and spotted the high, deep shelf above his head. He had forgotten that.

Too lazy to fetch a chair and lacking the inches to reach up there with ease, Doyle jumped on the spot. He obtained a fingerhold on the canvas grip overlapping the shelf on the third attempt. His tug meeting with no resistance, Doyle and the bag landed on the floor in a tangle of fabric and obscenities, Doyle's squawk of surprise echoing through the flat as he found himself supine and submerged under the clammy, evil-smelling folds of something unfamiliar.

"What the hell - ? Oh." Bodie ground to a halt. "You found it then," he said, annoyed with himself for having forgotten his hiding place.

"Found what?" spluttered Doyle, pushing back what felt like acres of obscenely pink rubber - or plastic, he wasn't sure which it was, only that he didn't want it touching him.

"Nothing," said Bodie hastily. Swooping down to make a grab for the bag, he tried to stuff the uncooperative contents back inside.

One half of the best team in CI5 waking up, Doyle's hand clamped around his wrist.

"Hang on a minute. Let's see what I've found."

Kneeling up, Doyle began to unfold his prize, which flabbily fought back. His mouth and eyes opened to their fullest extent, his voice trailed away as the limp material he was hauling from the grip it had been crammed in to took on a vaguely familiar shape.

"What the fuck - ? This is what you got me for Christmas? Even you wouldn't dare. I'll bloody kill you," he added with conviction. With no enthusiasm he established that his left hand was clenched over a deflated breast while his right was centred over a more intimate portion of the lady's anatomy.

"This is a bloody inflatable doll. A sex doll," he continued accusingly, quivering with outrage.

"Don't be daft, it's a wet suit," said Bodie with authority.

"A wet - ?" Despite himself, Doyle looked down to check. Meeting a vacuous pink face he fought against the laughter chuckling up through belly and chest as he dangled his find by her neck. Moment later the laughter ambushed him, leaving him aching and mildly incoherent.

"You bastard," he wheezed, wiping eyes that had begun to tear, as much from the dust as from hilarity. "I wouldn't mind watching you trying to get it on though," he conceded, beginning to chuckle again.

This reaction almost all he had hoped for, despite the lack of build-up on Christmas morning Bodie sank cross-legged onto the floor and shook his head.

"Pink's not my colour."

"One of these days," said Doyle, sinking down to his level, "I'm going to do you a serious injury. Only you could get me an inflatable bloody doll for Christmas!"

"Life size, too," said Bodie proudly.

"I dunno about that," said Doyle, who was investigating his prize with a puzzled disbelief - his life having been innocent or such exotica until now. "You could get lost in here for a week. 'S revolting. Smells horrible, too." A look of revulsion crossed his face. "Are you sure she hasn't had one careful owner?"

"Would I buy secondhand goods for you? Nothing but the best here, mate."

"Phew, I'm not so sure. Maybe it's used for aversion therapy."

Bodie was shaking his head. "Very popular line this, sunshine."

"Who with?" demanded Doyle with disbelief. He told himself his impulse to scratch was psychosomatic.

"Ah. I thought it best not to ask."

"Where d'you get it?"

"You don't want to know," Bodie said, for once telling the unvarnished truth.

"Trust me, I do. Particularly if this is going to rebound on me. Where did you get it?" He refused on principle to dignify this rubber nightmare with a gender.

"Though one of those sex mags we were reading while we were on stakeout last month. I got so bored I started reading those dodgy adverts. She came by post."

"Yeah? The postman must've had a hell of a job getting her through the letter box. She's a big girl."

"You can say that again."

Doyle straightened out a rubbery leg, which insisted on sticking out at right angles. "I dread to think what she looks like full blown. Speakin' of which, how does she -?" His hand moved in a gesture of query.

Bodie was fumbling in the bag. "There should be an instruction sheet here somewhere - and a pump. The nozzle's in her back. It works. I got her up, though I had a bit of difficulty gettin' her down again," he admitted with a reminiscent grin.

"I believe you." Doyle's tone was absent, his attention on practical matters. "What I don't understand is, what stops the air from coming out again?" Natural delicacy made him pause.

Not recognising this rare lapse on his lover's part, Bodie stared at him. "From where?"

Doyle sank back on his heels. "Where d'you think? Why would _you_ want an inflatable woman, Bodie?"

"I wouldn't," he replied frankly.

"Don't make difficulties. You said there was a demand. Why would any bloke want one, eh? It's not likely there could be any other reason except to fuck her. It's not like a rubber duck, is it? I mean, you can't float something this big in the bath."

"Now I know why you're in there so long," said Bodie, enlightened.

Doyle gave him an absent-minded cuff round the ear. "No, but why else would a bloke get one? It's got to be to use sexually. Hasn't it?" He gave a pouchy buttock a tentative poke with his finger, that the most intimate contact he cared to contemplate.

"Be more fun fucking a frozen chicken," sniffed Bodie.

Doyle looked up, interested. "Tried, have you? Can see I better do the shopping from now on."

The short wrestling match which ensued was broken up by the sound of the telephone ringing. Bodie got to it first, his expression rapidly changing.

"All right, we're on our way. We'll meet Alpha there. Trouble," he told Doyle unnecessarily, finding him in the bedroom, jeans on while he fumbled for his boots.

"What's new? Come on, you can brief me in the car. Finish dressing there, too. I'll drive," said Doyle, equally businesslike, the transition into work-mode was effortless for both men. He snatched up his sheepskin and Bodie's padded jacket.

 

On duty for a solid forty-five hours and spending more of them than they cared for in Cowley's demanding company, it wasn't until they were half-way back to their flat, Bodie driving with the slit-eyed concentration of total fatigue, that they remembered their scheduled move. Doyle fumbled in his pocket for the envelope the security man had handed him as they left headquarters.

"Bloody 'ell," he said blankly, before he gave a grin of delight. We've gone upmarket. George has only given us a place in Chelsea," he added with approval, before he read out the address. "Want me to drive the rest of the way?"

Making a smooth u-turn Bodie shook his head. "Just make sure I don't doze off behind the wheel. Still, we saved the Nation again. What a waste of time, eh?"

Doyle snorted inelegantly. "If their security was half as good as the corner chemist's we wouldn't have been called in in the first place. The Cow had a field day, didn't he."

"Waxed quite lyrical on occasion," agreed Bodie. "Which side's Lennox Street on, d'you know?"

"Nope," said Doyle untroubled. "Want me to check with Control? I don't really fancy a sightseeing trip at this time or the morning."

"No need," said Bodie, spotting the street sign three-quarters hidden behind a load of vegetation escaping from someone's garden. He signalled and turned left. "Strewth, there's even a parking bay. The place looks all right, doesn't it," he added, sleepily surveying the elegant facade.

"Looks can be deceiving. It's probably got an outside bog and no central heating," said Doyle the pessimist.

"Considering the unseasonal heatwave we're having at the moment I can't say I'd miss it that much," said Bodie, taking the key and piece or paper from him. "It says it's a garden flat. You're the nature lover, you can mow the weeds. Wow," he breathed, stepping into an elegant hallway.

"We can look around tomorrow," said Doyle, propping himself against the wall. "I'm knackered. We'll have to set the alarm though."

"We've got three days off," Bodie reminded him.

"Yeah, and two or them are Christmas Day and Boxing Day. If you plan on eating over Christmas we'll need to get some food in tomorrow while there's somewhere still open."

"I'll set the alarm," said Bodie, convinced. "Want a drink?"

"Nah, just bed. The bathroom's OK," Doyle added, emerging even more rumpled than he had entered it, if damp around the edges.

"So's the living room. Christ, we have gone up in the world. There's a conservatory beyond those french doors."

"Just the place for you to do your tatting. Come on, Sherlock, bed. This is the first time we've ever had Christmas off. Someone slipped up."

"Lucas and McCabe," Bodie told him, rejoining him in the hall. "Cowley caught them rigging the draw."

"You never told me."

"Surprised you didn't hear the kerfuffle down in Berkshire. You got back from there fast. I wasn't expecting you for a good hour."

"Traffic was better than I expected. I got done for speeding though," grimaced Doyle.

"Cowley'll kill you."

"Maybe he'll mellow over the festive season," said Doyle hopefully as he leant tiredly on the door jamb of the bathroom watching Bodie attend to a pressing need before cleaning his teeth.

"Optimist," said Bodie, having rinsed one final time. "Where's the bedroom then? Oh, airing cupboard. It must be that door then, it's the only one yet. Oh my god." He froze on the threshold, his face a horrified mask as he took in the sight revealed by the light.

The obscenely pink object occupying the centre of the king-sized bed stared vacantly back at him while Doyle had mild hysterics in the background.

 

"But how did they find her?" fretted Bodie, unable to leave the subject alone.

"She'd be difficult to miss," pointed out Doyle. "As I remember you left her lying in the middle of the floor."

" _I_ did?" protested Bodie. "What about you?"

"I am never wrong. Anyway, that note from the Cow didn't mention me, did it?"

Bodie gave him a speaking look. "It's going to take us years to live this down," he complained, his gloom unrelieved by a long sleep, a large meal and singing along to _The Sound of Music_. "Though why he should assume I got her."

Doyle's head turned, the better to study his mate's profile. "Who else would be suicidal enough - having copped a look at and memorised his credit card number - to charge her in the name of George Cowley?" he asked reasonably. "I mean, mate, it might have worked if you hadn't had her sent to your address. It hardly took a mastermind to work it out. I thought the Old Man took it quite well, considering."

"It seemed a good idea at the time," admitted Bodie. Burying his nose in a large glass of scotch, his beginning-to-blur gaze remained on the carol service which was starting on the T.V. opposite them. "Cunning old bastard," he added. "He must've sent someone round with that note just before he sent us home - which means that the removal blokes shopped us. I'll kill Harry."

"It's just as likely to have been Charlie," Doyle reminded him. "They both owe you. Anyway, I wouldn't put it past Cowley to have dropped that note in himself. He was in a fairly festive mood - for him -by the time we got away. And we didn't exactly rush over here. He had time to do it. And god knows he had the motive. Balls the size of Texas, you have, mate.

For once Bodie was oblivious the compliment paid him.

"But that means Cowley's got a key to this place," he spluttered.

"So?" said Doyle, unexcited. "He has keys to everyone's place. He'd know to knock on the bedroom door before he knocked it down."

"You're plastered," recognised his realistic partner.

"Nah, just relaxed," said Doyle. Suffused with goodwill and an overindulgence of alcohol his fingers stroking a black corded thigh.

"So you are," discovered Bodie, investigating in his turn. "Got to admit, Cowley's won this round."

"You'll think of something," said Doyle comfortingly, shifting to allow his partner easier access. "Forget it for now; it's Christmas."

Bodie gave a weighty sigh. "I know. But it won't be the same without presents."

"True," agreed Doyle, humming along to _O Come All Ye Faithful_.

Bodie gave a dejected sniff.

"That's why you'll find yours waiting for you tomorrow morning," continued Doyle, his eyes still on the T.V. screen.

There was a surge of movement next to him. "It's morning now," said Bodie, his face losing a good fifteen years.

"By all of three minutes," agreed Doyle, unmoving.

"Come on, Ray."

"Tomorrow morning."

Warm hands settled around Doyle's throat.

"Happy Christmas," he said, capitulating.

"Where are they?"

"They? Confident, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Bodie simply.

"I must be as mad as you are. Come on then."

Shaking his head indulgently Doyle got to his feet, switched off the T.V. and ambled into the bedroom, drawing Bodie with him.

"I knew it was a good idea investing in this bed. The drawers came in no end handy," he added, crouching down. Looking up, he frowned as he saw Bodie's expression. "What's up?"

"Which drawer did you use?"

"The one on the right, why?"

"It's just as well. I hid your stuff in the one on the left," said Bodie with a grin. "Like you said, bed with drawers comes in no end handy."

"But when did you have the time to get anything?" puzzled Doyle.

"Probably the same time you did, September," said Bodie.

"Well, at least we beat the Christmas rush," said Doyle, his attention distracted by the clothing which was settling on the floor beside him. "I thought you wanted your pressies," he said, making no attempt to resist as he was drawn to his feet and back against the warmth of a very naked Bodie.

"So did I," murmured Bodie, his hands busy with the zip or Doyle's jeans. "Decided I'd rather have you instead. All right?"

Anticipation licking through him, Doyle watched competent hands settle over his bared flesh. "I'll let you know later," he said.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Written December 1988
> 
> Published in _HG Collected 1_


End file.
